


Blue on Blue

by RadarsTeddyBear



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Angst, Gen, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 11:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18342986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadarsTeddyBear/pseuds/RadarsTeddyBear
Summary: Someone gets a little trigger-happy on a mission.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt, "Friendly Fire," is from [this Tumblr post](http://radarsteddybear.tumblr.com/post/183411161000/la-vie-en-whump-october-approaches-in).  
> I am **not** currently taking taking prompts.

Carter sat in the forest, hidden amongst the trees, waiting for any sign of German patrols.  The sounds of footsteps, cracking twigs, and shouted German; the glint of a shining uniform button, the light from a flashlight.  Carter had had plenty of experience tracking and hunting animals back home (and even more experience applying those skills to his siblings and cousins during games of olly olly oxen free); keeping an eye out for Krauts would be a cinch.

There was a rustle in the trees.  Carter squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet into the shadowy darkness and filling the air with that all-too-familiar sound that made every fiber of Carter's being shout, 'get down!'  Something yelped in response.

“Watch it, Carter!  It’s only me!” hissed a voice from somewhere nearby.

“Oh,” Carter whispered back.  “Sorry.”  Then he frowned.  “Me who?”

“Me Newkirk!  Who else?”

“Oh.  Sorry, Newkirk,” Carter whispered.  That _would_ explain why the voice had sounded so familiar.

Carter sat in silence, watching and listening and waiting.

He heard the crunching sound of a footstep.

 _Blam!_ he shot off another round.

 _"Carter!”_  Newkirk’s voice raised above a whisper.  

“Sorry!” Carter whispered.

A dark, familiar shape emerged from the trees and bushes a few yards away from where Carter was positioned.  It walked over as quietly as it could manage amid the fallen leaves.

“Bloody near blew my fingers off,” Newkirk said, sitting himself down next to Carter.

“Jeez, Newkirk.  I was just trying to be careful, is all.  After last week--”

“Yeah, yeah.”  Newkirk waved him off.  “We’re all a little jumpy after last week.”

They sat in silence.

“Are your fingers ok?” Carter asked after a few moments.

“They’re fine.”  Newkirk inspected them.  “Lucky for both of us, you missed.”

“Oh.  Good.”

They resumed their silence.

And then there was another crack of a breaking twig.

Carter fumbled for his gun.

_Blam! Blam! Blam!_

“Hey, watch it!”

“Kinch, is that you?” Carter whispered.

“No, it’s Adolf Hitler.  Of _course_ it’s me!”

“Oh.  Good.  We thought you were a Kraut,” Carter said.

“What are you two _doing_ over here?  The Colonel said to split up!”

“If this one over ‘ere would stop shootin’ at me--”

“Hey, I was just doing my job!”

“Men ‘ave been court martialed for less!”

“Hey, hey, knock it off” Kinch hissed, and Newkirk and Carter both shut up.  “You two have got to get a hold of yourselves.  You’ll get us all killed!”

Carter and Newkirk both murmured their apologies.

“‘Ow’s it goin’ up at the bridge?” Newkirk asked.

“Fine.  Everything’s going to plan, though the Colonel’s starting to get antsy.  He doesn’t like that it’s taking so long.”

“But we knew it was going to take a while,” Carter said.

“Sure.  But that doesn’t mean he has to like it,” Kinch said.  “Of course, with you two having a cocktail party over here, who knows how many Krauts have gotten near the others.”

Looks of guilty realization dawned on Carter and Newkirk’s faces.

“I’ll head out thataway,” Carter said, pointing with his thumb.

“Good idea,” Kinch said.

Carter scrambled off to find a new outpost.

“So…” Newkirk said.  “Just how worried is the Colonel?”

Kinch glared at him through the darkness.

“I’ll just be off, then,” Newkirk said.  He took a few steps backwards in the opposite direction Carter had gone and disappeared into the trees.

Kinch shook his head and sighed.  Despite last week’s incident, they were all getting a little lax.  Their little rag-tag group of POWs was a well-oiled machine, one that so rarely ever broke down, that it was easy to get too comfortable with the dangerous work they were doing, especially when almost everything so far had managed to work out in the end.  But Kinch was used to living a life where he could never let his guard down.  Back home, he could never be sure if each person he met on the street was going to want spit on him, or shove him, or punch his lights out.  Since most German officials would want to do the same if given the chance, it was easy for Kinch to maintain the same level of careful caution that he did back home.

For the other guys...not so much.

_Blam!_

Kinch froze, his brain frantically trying to figure out if they had been discovered by a German patrol or if it was just more of Carter’s friendly fire.  But ultimately, it didn’t matter.  If the former, whoever had been discovered would need backup; if the latter, Carter would need a stern talking to and a possible benching.

Kinch took off towards the source of the sound, ignoring the branches and brambles that tore and snagged at his skin.

Kinch stopped short as he came across a small clearing.  Carter was standing in front of him, staring in shock at his own blood-covered hand.  Newkirk stood a few yards away, a stricken look on his face, looking between Carter and his gun as if the latter had just killed his puppy and he was having trouble believing it.

"What’s going on here?” Kinch demanded.

“I…” Newkirk began helplessly.

A sound escaped from Carter’s throat as he pitched forward.  Kinch rushed to catch him, and he gently lowered him to the ground.

“I’ve killed him,” Newkirk whispered, his gun falling through shaking fingers.  “I’ve bloody killed him.”

“It’s all right.  He’s just fainted,” Kinch said, holding his fingers to Carter’s wrist.  “We’ve got to get him back to camp.”  Kinch grabbed the walkie-talkie he had slung over his shoulder.  “Goldilocks to Papa Bear.  Goldilocks to Papa Bear.”

A few seconds later, the walkie-talkie crackled to life.  “This is Papa Bear.”

“Carter’s down.  Shot.”

“How bad?”

“He’s still alive.”  Kinch gave him a quick once-over and quickly found the wound--a growing spot of blood in his shoulder.  “I don’t think it’s too serious, but he’s unconscious.”

“Krauts?”

Kinch looked at Newkirk.  “Friendly fire, Colonel.  No threat.”

“Get Carter back to camp.  We’ll meet you there.”

“Roger.”  Kinch put the walkie-talkie away and turned to Newkirk.  “Help me get him back to the tunnel.”  He picked up Newkirk’s gun and handed it back to him.  “I’ll carry him.  You cover me,” Kinch said. 

Newkirk was silent as he helped Kinch gather him up, and together they made their way back to Stalag 13.


	2. Chapter 2

Newkirk paced the floor of Barrack 2.  Inside the Colonel’s room, Wilson was patching Carter up.  Kinch hadn’t left his side since they got back, and neither had Colonel Hogan once he and LeBeau had gotten back some ten minutes later.  But Newkirk couldn’t bring himself to go inside. Not when...when…

“Here,” LeBeau said, pressing a steaming cup of ersatz coffee into his hand.  

Newkirk gave him a short nod, but he couldn’t bring himself to drink it.  The tin cup shook in his hand, rattling as if to echo the sound of a death knell ringing throughout the city.  He set it down on the table and resumed his pacing.

“Why don’t you sit down for a little while?  You’re going to wear a hole in the floor!” LeBeau complained.

Newkirk sat down at the table and put his head in his hands.

“Carter will pull through.  I know it,” LeBeau said confidently.

A lump grew in Newkirk’s throat.  He knew that there was a good chance that Carter would be ok.  He’d seen enough of the wound that he knew that Carter wouldn’t die from it alone, and they’d gotten him back to camp in time to stop the bleeding.  The Colonel’s sulfa supply should take care of the rest, and if it didn’t, he might be able to pull some strings to get something better. Ultimately, things could be a lot worse.

_Except._

The only reason that Carter was lying in the Colonel’s bunk instead of his own, the only reason that they hadn’t been able to complete the mission, the only reason that trains were going to keep using those tracks to transport men and supplies all over Germany so that the bloody Krauts could continue to murder Allied soldiers on the front and their loved ones back home, was because Newkirk hadn’t had the presence of mind to _look_ before firing his gun.

If Newkirk was going to do something so stupid, why couldn’t he have shot himself instead?

 

* * *

 

Kinch slipped out of the Colonel’s room.

“He’s asking for you,” he said quietly.

Newkirk looked up blearily and was surprised to find that Kinch was talking to _him._

“Me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Kinch said.  “I’ll be right out here if you need anything.”

Newkirk nodded and stood up as if in a daze.  He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting there.  The coffee had grown cold a long time ago. Everyone who’d illicitly been up when they’d gotten back had gone to sleep.  The Colonel had taken Carter’s bunk for the night while Kinch stayed inside to keep an eye on Carter. Fear and guilt gnawed at his gut worse than during those late nights he allowed himself to worry about his sister back home.  

Newkirk made his way over to the Colonel’s room, but he hesitated.  Maybe he shouldn’t go in. Maybe he should wait until tomorrow, when his head was clearer and Carter was stronger.

No.  Carter had asked for him.  It was the least he could do to give him that.

Newkirk pushed the door open and stepped inside.

“Hiya, Newkirk!” Carter said, propped up in the bottom bunk, his voice bright, though a little weak.  His shoulder was wrapped in bandages, and his arm was in a sling.

“Hey, Andrew,” Newkirk said.  “How’re you feeling?”

“Not too bad,” Carter said.  “My shoulder hurts, though. Wilson offered me some of the moonshine we have down in the tunnel, but that stuff makes me dizzy.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“‘Ere, let me…” Newkirk tsked as he fiddled with the pillows to help him find a better position.  “Why’d you want me in ‘ere, anyway?” he said carefully, smoothing down the blankets and avoiding look at Carter.

Carter shrugged with his good shoulder.  “I was kinda lonely.”

“You ‘ad Kinch.”

“Yeah, but…”  Carter looked past Newkirk into the darkness outside the window.  “You hadn’t visited yet.”

“Well, it’s not like LeBeau came to visit, either.”

Carter gave him a look.  “LeBeau faints at the sight of blood.”

Newkirk laughed.  “Yeah. It’s a good thing he wasn’t…” _there when I shot you,_ his brain oh-so-helpfully finished for him.

But Carter was laughing, too.  “That would have been a mess, wouldn’t it?  Having to carry two of us back instead of just one.”

Newkirk nodded, and his eyes fell on Carter’s bandages again.  “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt too much, Andrew?  I’m sure I could nick some schnapps from ol’ Klink’s office.”

“No, it’s all right,” Carter said, wincing as he shifted again.  

“Your dressing’s not too tight, is it?” Newkirk asked, eyeing it critically as he fixed the pillows again.

“Oh, no.  It’s just right.  The bleeding’s stopped and everything,” Carter assured him.

“Are you thirsty?  I could pop out and get you some water.”

“No, I’m ok.”

“How about something to eat?  I’m sure I could find something lying around.”

“No, it’s ok, really.  I’m fine.” Carter thought for a moment.  “Well, as fine as you can be when you’ve just had a bullet taken out of your shoulder.”

Newkirk nodded, guilt sitting heavy in his gut like a Christmas pudding after New Year.  “I guess I’ll be off to bed now, then,” he said, making his way towards the door. “You need to get some rest, anyway."

“No,” Carter said a little too quickly.  He sounded...nervous, almost, which was strange.  For all the empty space in Carter’s head, nerves didn’t have much of a place in it.  “Stay.”

Newkirk looked at him, bewildered. _“Stay?”_ he repeated.  “Why would you want me to stay?”

Carter half-shrugged again.  “I don’t know. It feels kinda weird, being alone.”

“I’ll send Kinch back in,” Newkirk said, moving to open the door.  

“But…” Carter began, and he looked so crestfallen that Newkirk stopped.

“What do you want me in here for, Andrew?  I-I _shot_ you.”

“I know that.  I was there, you know,” Carter said seriously.

“Then why are you acting so bloody _normal?”_

Carter looked puzzled.  “How else should I act?”

“You might be mad at me, for starters.”

“But it was an accident.”

“I could have killed you!”

Carter frowned.  “Would you feel better if I were mad at you?”

“It’s only fair.”

Carter’s face creased and folded into a rare expression of anger.  “Fine!  Then I hate you!” he said, raising his voice with a sudden furor that made Newkirk jump.  But the anger vanished as quickly as it had come. “But I’d still like you to stay.”

Newkirk sat down heavily in the chair next to the bed and sighed.  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll stay.”


End file.
